Oh yeah, did I mention I get to hang with Felicia Day at Dragoncon next week? My job rocks so hardcore.

Finally. FINALLY.

http://userscripts.org/scripts/show/17139 -- REMOVE TWITTER UPDATES FROM LJ. Thank GOD. Now if only they'll make something that'll let me remove 'em from Facebook it'll all be good.

I wanna take a minute to talk about something that once carried a lotta importance in my life, and something I learned a while back. This all ties into a lot of things I've been thinking about lately, and directly ties into a Process I'm working on right now, but I figured I'd share this bit for a few who might get a laugh out of it.

I used to roleplay a *lot*. A whooooooole lot. I was one of those REAL RPers, too - Took it seriously and shit. And don't get me wrong - I enjoyed it. It was fun, and something that even lead to my current employment. So nothing against it. But I was thinking about the kinds of characters I used to play, and wondering what my roleplaying past said about my mental states through-out the past ten years or so.

It's damned interesting, to say the least.

Anyway, I'm not going to go into all the details or anything - Maybe in a later post. But at one point, back in the day, one of my characters came up with a term that really defined not only him but a lot of the other characters I'd played. It was "Old Mage's Syndrome". The personality trait of someone who burdens themselves with a lot of knowledge (whether they need it or not) and then turns into a recluse *due* to that knowledge. How, once they learn a certain amount of knowledge, they just kinda get tired/disgusted/weary with the rest of the world around them and start to withdraw. The shitty part - The part that really sucks - is that they took on that knowledge in the first place because of something they loved and wanted to protect. The more they try to protect and know, the crazier and more reclusive they get.

And, ya know, it sounds like a lotta crap, but... I know quite a few people who've gone through just that process. And to be honest, I think I'm really starting to do it too.

Don't get me wrong. It isn't an emo thing. It's just that... damn. People are stupid. And most of the time, I'm genuinely happier when I don't have to deal with anyone else's crap. Love my friends to death and all, do anything in the world for 'em, but jeezus.

Part of me wants to say that the people I know need to just grow the hell up. But I've had experiences with Real Grown Ups the past month or two and hot damn are they boring. Like, seriously. If that's the alternative? I don't wanna grow up either.

So I'm stuck in this sorta nebulous place where I'm tired of the kiddie bullshit but I'll be damned if my idea of a good time is sitting around in ascots sipping wine and discussing stock futures. There doesn't really seem to be any middle ground in most of the peeps I know, either. It's crazy. Or, well, I'm crazy, as was postulated in an earlier post.

On top of all that? The reason I'm thinking about all this? Because I've been an idiot for a long time, and trying to fix everything around me. It's not wrong to try and fix some stuff, that's just natural. But someone who tries to fix *everything* no matter what the cost? That's someone who has a few issues. And that's one part of the things I'm rattling around in my head.

So. One of the important lessons I've learned lately - Don't always think you're the only person who can save the world's problems. You're not a superhero... and sometimes people don't actually *need* the help. They can take care of themselves. Sometimes you need to take care of you.

Funny the archetypes we lay over ourselves sometimes.

I'd also like to note, for the record, that hell itself comes in shot glass form. It's 1/3rd Bailey's, 1/3rd sambuca, and 1/3rd Absinthe.

Assholes.

I've been spending the last month or so doing a lot of introspection - Spending time trying to figure out why I am who I am, digging deep into the archives and trying to sort out my head. I realize that coming from me of all people this sounds a bit strange - After all, my main goal up until now has pretty much been to just cruise through life and take shit as it comes without really worrying about the hows and whys. Life, though, has been asking a bit more of me than that lately, and with that has come a series of very odd changes to myself, my personality, and the ways I live my life.

Ultimately, the largest part of this is that I'm forcing myself to stop and start thinking about a lot of very, very old things - Stuff I'd long forgotten about, stuff I didn't really *want* to remember. It's funny, to an extent, to reflect on all the crap I've been through... and all the crap I've done to others.

The problem with everything that I'm coming to realize is that I'm starting to understand the common denominator in the issues of everyone around me. That being me myself. I am somehow at the center of everyone's problems, if not the direct catalyst. And at the end of it all I can see a single conclusion that I'm coming toward - I know that it's where I'm headed, and I know that it's the only logical answer. I'm really just trying to avoid it, even though it's an inevitability.

The conclusion is this: Either I'm sane and everyone else is crazy... or I'm crazy and everyone else is sane. Though the latter is more than likely the case it doesn't really matter much; either way I'm still the odd man out. No one - And I mean this literally, in the sense of I have not yet met a single individual - seems to think along the same lines as me. And while I understand that, naturally, no one will ever think *exactly* like someone else (individuality and all that), I seem to be so far off the mark that I might as well be speaking another language. Hell, some days I could almost swear I am.

So if I'm the problem in everyone else's life, and I'm also the odd man out... that means I'm crazy. And if I'm crazy, while everyone else around me is sane...

As I get older and, what I guess they call, "responsible", I've come to realize just how much I fucking hate this nick.

I mean, don't get me wrong. As a pairing of two words in the english language it isn't a *bad* one persay. It's just gotten attached to some really bad vibes over the past few years. Ones that make me almost hide my head in shame when folks see this damn nick. Here's how this went down:

Brad, around age 14 when everything was so fucking cool like ninjas and turtles Batman and ninja turtles and the X-Men and... yeah. You get the picture. Anyway: Brad, around age 14, thought that the combination of the words "Dark" and "Sheer" sounded SO fucking cool when he read of some computer game that had, amazingly enough, a character called DarkSheer in it.

"Holy crud!!!" thought the young I (bear in mind, this is before I started swearing - yes there *was* such a time). "That name is the most awesomely awesome thing that could have ever been awesome! I'm SO gonna use that one day when I finally get a 'net account! And it's totally gonna become my great and awesome nickname of utter coolness!"

I swear to you, I wasn't on any drugs as a kid. Like, any at all. Lotta vitamin supplements back then, though. And sugar. Maybe that had something to do with it.

I felt a small pang enter my chest as my heart began to break, lips curled into a dire, deep frown. Slowly, I came to realize that I could not use the name... because it was taken already. And that would be plagiarism.

My tiny (and very ultimately very, very bored) brain instantly began churning against the problem, bent and determined to find a ray of light within the new-found clouds of endless despair. I pondered for quite some time - At least a good three minutes or so - hoping that I could divine some answer from within the abyss.

And then... there it was. The idea I had been searching for. And angels sang down upon me as I finally burst through the darkness (so to speak).

"If I take the name... and I switch around the words... then it'll totally be mine! And it's even COOLER sounding than DarkSheer!!! YES!! WHOO!!"

I... didn't get out much as a kid, in case you can't tell.

Anyway, my infinite wisdom then began prompting me to use this nickname on damn near everything. High scores in computer games? Yup. Save files? Yup. AOL Account? Yup. Everything after that? Yup.

Now, you're probably wondering why the hell I kept using this name for so long. Because, I mean, yeah - To a 14 year old it's badass. But I was 17 when I first got online. Truth is, at that point, it'd really just kinda become a habit. That and I was getting into my full-on angst swing right about then, so I figured "Eh. Dark. Kinda like MY SOUL."

After that, everyone online started *knowing* me as SheerDark. So since I had a shitload of people I talked to over the 'net and figured I might as well make it easy.... everything else got stuck with SheerDark after that.

And as I got a little older I just figured... eh. You know, not really a huge deal. Not like anyone's really going to pay attention to it anyway. So I just kinda shrugged it off and kept it around.

Now I'm 27. And I'm starting to interact with what are apparently "big people". Like, non-early-20s "adults" and shit. And damned if I just don't feel a little silly when, say, everyone on a Google group is named with their first and last real name (and even middle initials sometimes)... except for Mr. SheerDark down there.

It's not like it's the name that really bugs me. That's not it at all. I probably wouldn't even be all that bothered by it if it weren't for emo kids.

You heard me.

See, there was this little period of time where I was online and angsty that *being* angsty made me goth-sorta-ish. And that was *cool*. I mean, I know *now* that it wasn't cool, but christ I was 18 and beginning a downward spiral into absolute batshitcrazyness. But... back then, it wasn't so bad.

But now, people wouldn't see that and just think "Oh, he's a little angsty sometimes, no biggie". No, they see that and think "Oh *no*, he's one of those goddamn emo kids." Because these days, any sign of angst at all automatically gets me lumped in with THOSE fuckers. Christ. People probably picture me as having one of those stupid little haircuts and everything.

... my current haircut is perfectly normal, thank you.

It's starting to feel like I should have some sort of pre-planned apology or something. Like, when someone sees my nick I just automatically launch into a lot of very loud, nervous laughter and start rambling about how it's a really old account of a friend that I took over or some shit.

... which I guess is what I've been doing here.

Fuck.

P.S.: I'm also a little pissed off about the whole WildfireRyo nick I've got in places for the same reasons as the above. Not that I don't still love me some Ryo Sanada and co., but the instant someone sees that you've got an anime-ish nick you instantly become The Fat Neckbearded Nerd. Which I am not anymore, fuck off - The long hair got ditched a year ago and the goatee has been gone for over a month now. HAH.

I'm also down to 98 kilos, which is pretty cool. A decent bit more to go, but we're getting there.

That's it this time. Really.

Little moments. Having a cig out the back window, staring blankly at another apartment building. I could tell which rooms were watching the same TV show at the same time by the flashes on their curtains. Good stuff.

So lemme start off by saying this: 2008 was fucking weird.

Really. Really. REALLY fucking weird.

No, seriously.

I started the year in Stockholm, of all places, hanging with some friends who were back there on vacation to visit family. I was actually supposed to head back this New Year's, but plans are still... uneasy at the moment. Long story, typical of my life and the random chaos therein.

Anyway, there I was in another new country. Some place I'd never been before yet again. And there were snowflakes and booze and my boys and it was the best feeling I'd had in such a long time. That was how I started off the year - Standing in the streets of Stockholm, snow billowing down in huge, massive flakes, completely drunk, and marveling at the sheer energy of the world around me. I'd found Nirvana in Scandinavia, and my tour guide was Jagermeister and a couple of Swedes.

That was how I started the year.

I'm ending the year here in Oslo, most likely, but content. Not everything this year has been pleasant - Not by a long shot. I've had so much drama circling around me this year that it's an amazing thing that I haven't tried to leap off a rather large building. But I've also learned a lot of lessons - Hard though some of 'em were to come by - that have been really positive at the end of the day. I won't say that I'm happy with everything that's happened this year, and there are a few things I wouldn't mind being able to change. But for the most part, I've done alright.

The first half of the year was interesting in a lot of ways. I can't say too much about it publicly at the moment, but I was given an amazing opportunity at work which I whole-heartedly took and ran with. Because of that, I'm getting the chance to work on a very, very exciting project and in a very exciting way. Trust me, when I can talk more about it, I will - Shouldn't be too much longer.

I went home for the first time since arriving in Norway. That was... strange. Mississippi in early September was pretty much exactly how I remembered it. And that really, really *scared* me. Like I've told others it was like stepping back in time to almost two years ago - Everything else was the same, but *I* had changed. It was great seeing mom and dad and the rest of the family/friends, but... damn it was weird. Then again, so was the whole trip - Cancelled flights, hurricanes, and other assorted oddness. There was even food poisoning tacked on at the end.

The entire trip to the US went from Atlanta to North Carolina to Jackson to Sacramento to San Fransisco to Jackson to Oslo. Rather whirlwind, and stressful as hell, but definitely not without it's highlights - Including finally getting something off my mind that's been sticking there for nearly ten years.

October was... October. Seemed to be going ok for a while, then around the third week in everything went to hell and back. And I mean everything. The end of October may have been the lowest period I've had in years, just because of the immense amount of bullshit piled on me.

And then, somewhere around mid-November, something just kinda... snapped. I don't really know what, to be honest, but that was it. And the depression wore off, the bullshit seemed to lighten on my shoulders, and all the sudden I felt *fantastic*. And I've pretty much felt that way since. It's been wonderful. Even the old Emo Alert Advisory System poster at work isn't getting much use these days. Things just seem better now, and included with some revelations I had back toward August... things are ok. I've gotten the chance to do some things I want to do, to say some things I needed to say, and to find out some truths. Amazing stuff.

Anyway, I've learned a lot. And, at the end of the day, I think I'm a happier, better person for it all. My job is going great, my friends are all still awesome, and... yeah. Life's just good in general. I'm not quite as depressed as I used to be, I'm losing weight, I'm watching my friends all become better people... it's great stuff.

I spend a lot of time looking at the sky these days, and I'm not even worried in the slightest that it's going to fall. It's just great to watch the clouds some times.

http://psychologytoday.com/rss/pto-20071029-000003.html  -- Fascinating stuff, really. Having had a lot of nightmare issues over the past year or so, it makes me wonder more about exactly what my body may be trying to tell me.

http://www.virb.com/beats/music/albums/8289 - Listen to the track "Back in Time". It's good stuff.

I've been working some strangely long hours lately, getting very little sleep over the last week. My boss hates it, but sometimes it's what you have to do to get the job done. So I've been sleep deprived for the last eight or so days, and it's been a long week in way too many ways.

The problem with sleep deprivation is that it's a hell of a drug. Things start making more sense, or in some cases stop making sense all-together. Your mind works on a different level entirely, one that's moved farther toward the realm of id than super-ego, while creating new balances and checks within the structure of your own inner thought. What this is getting at is saying that sleep deprivation fucks with you after a while. And given the week I'm having, it's given me the urge to actually put some of it out there and let my fingers give me a little stress relief.

The worst of it is some horrendous news I got earlier in the week. Without going into all the details a very old, very good friend of mine suffered a massive tragedy - The kind of thing you don't even really know how to address. And to be quite frank, I'm worried shitless about her. She's one of those people who's been around for me more than anyone has any rights to, and now that she's going through hell I don't think there's anything I can do in return. She's a great woman, and I know she'll make it through - Her friends and her family are all there for her, grieving with her. But it's human nature to want to do what you can to help, even if you know there's nothing you're capable of doing. Best I can do is be there if she needs it, and otherwise just keep her in my thoughts - I know that. But it still sucks being relegated to the sidelines sometimes.

It's a weird time of year for me as well. We're coming up soon on one year of having been in Norway. Just passed one year of being single. Almost one year since I first woke up at midnight, while the sun had just dipped below the horizon. It's been a weird year - Hell of a year. Ups and downs and inbetweens. I've gotten some amazing opportunities here, some fantastic chances. I've changed a lot, some ways for the better and others for the... well, for the different. I'm in a band now. I'm getting the chance to make my own computer game from scratch. I've shaved my head. I've been screwed over by people I never thought would abandon me, made friends with people I thought were destined to stab me in the back. I've spent $30 USD on a hamburger. I've stumbled home at four in the morning, walking downtown without any fear, drunk as can be. I've made snow angels. I've utterly failed to pick up any Norwegian chicks. I've spent hours watching the waters near my apartment. I've eaten breakfast at 4am on the rooftop with my friends after a long night of fucking off. I've gotten damn good at Guitar Hero. I've propped my feet up at the office on Christmas day and blared hip-hop out of speakers that were way too bass-heavy. I've started doing digital painting, getting back to my roots as a graphic designer and straying into the territory of graphic artist. I've screamed and I've cried and I've laughed and I've sung as loud as I can. I've watched ashes go sailing off balconies, wondering where the time went. I've wondered how I got here. I've wondered what would have been. I've wondered if my life could have been different. I've wondered if this is where I was always meant to be.

And I've wondered about things that I've said, and things that I've done. If maybe I could have done something different at points in my life. And I've wondered if it even really matters. If the experience I've gotten here has been worth it. I think it has. I *have* to think that it has. But some times I get the feeling that I could have said things better. That maybe my words got in the way of what I meant, or what I was trying to say. That I don't phrase things like I mean, or maybe that I say things I don't mean at all. I don't lie, or at least I do my best not to, but my moods switch so frequently and so hard that... it's impossible to tell from one day to the next if what I said yesterday is what I really feel inside.

I won't drag this out any further than I already have, save to mention one last thing. And this is sage wisdom for you guys, from me to you: If anyone ever asks you if you'll fight for what you love and believe in? Say yes. Because sometimes the fact that you fought is all that matters in the end.

Don't fall asleep. That's all I said.

Stolen from god only knows who the fuck all, and done because I'm bored and this is actually a rather cool meme:

Go to the Wikipedia home page and click random article. That is your band's name.
Click random article again; that is your album name.
Click random article repeatedly to name each track on your album.

I changed this up just a bit. After getting some of the odder track names, I decided to go all out and make it a debut rap album. All the "featured" guests and remix titles are also random names I got from Wikipedia. All by hitting random, no skipping things I didn't like. That said, I give you:

Artist: Cyrano De Bergerac
Album: Epermeniidae

01: Yport (Intro)
02: Audi S3
03: The Road Home (feat. Your and My Secret)
04: Tommaso da Modena
05: Sport in the Northern Territory (Skit)
06: Public transport in Kuala Lumpur (Interlude)
07: Fastway
08: Jawsfest (feat. Yvonne Reyenders)
09: Ascapart (Pad Printing Remix)
10: Mediobogdum (feat. Pierre Jarry and Booty Luv)
11: Sabata
12: List of television stations in Connecticut (Skit)
13: 1081
14: Unterseeboot 303 (feat. Deleni River)
15: Robert Liddell
16: Rich Like Us (feat. Matura Shtetërore, The Clink, and Li Keqiang)

Yep.

Also, thanks to the peeps who donated for my site--It's down for a little bit, but everything should be gravy. Many, many thanks. =D You guys saved my ass.

Since it looks like this is starting to grow...



That's right, it's the first (and last) annual Cinco de Fuckin' Mayo party! Myself, Agent Lester, and Ess "Toolbox" Gee have managed to clean The Hizzy--To celebrate, we invite everyone and their mother out to my place this Saturday night (May 5th, 2007) to drink, eat, and be complete idiots.

Following in the grand traditions of the annual Easter Party, there are two major rules: (1) Bring something. Chips, booze, soda, whatever. But don't walk through the door empty-handed. (B): No drama shall take place within the sacred walls of The Hizzy. So sayeth the Crash, so shall it be. Only other rule is to try and keep things down to a very dull roar while outside--Neighbors hate me, would love to throw me in jail. Otherwise, knock yourselves out, have fun, get ten shades of intoxicated, and end up passing out in the front lawn. It'll be good times.

Time for the party to start hasn't been decided yet, but if you plan on bringing grub try to show up a little early. Myself and Grill Master L-Bomb will be manning the front porch charcoal cooker in an attempt to serve up some fine offerings, so if you wanna contribute to that as well it'd be greatly appreciated. Also, if you need directions to The Hizzy, send me an email at sheerdark@gmail.com stating who the hell you are and dropping me your cell phone number (that way I can call your ass when you inevitably get lost on the way here).

See you Saturday!

Ok, so I'm trying this thing.

Back in the day, there was this program called AllAdvantage. Long story short, they paid you to view some targeted advertisements while you surfed. Fairly simple program, didn't take much, no spyware bullshit, and it actually paid money--I made about $75 off of it myself, which isn't a lot but it was nice to have. Unfortunately, they fell under the big dot-com bubble crash and kinda faded off after advertisement money on the 'net dried up.

Well, looks like they're back with a brand new program, and I'm willing to give it a shot.

The idea is this: Sign up and download a toolbar for your comp. Browse the 'net, it displays small advertisements--Pretty unobtrusive, from what I've seen, and you're limited to a max of five hours a month. 'course, it's all dependent on getting other people to sign up underneath you in a referral branch thing, which... hell, I'm willing to go for it.

Right now they're just doing signups, as the toolbar is still under beta. But I went ahead and signed up for it, and figured there might be someone else out there who'd be interested in joining up under me and potentially making some of the proverbial Phat Cash. People who can link up lots of referrals (wyldkyss, I'm looking at you here--I remember how much luck you had with the free iPod thing back in the day) stand to make some pretty decent dough off of it--At least enough to justify five hours a month of having a little toolbar active on their computer.

So yeah. Here's my referral link: http://www.agloco.com/r/BBBG0696 -- If you wanna sign up, please do so under that link, then pass out your own referral link to people you know (which you'll get after signing up). If there's any interest in this, I'll post an update later on when the toolbar's getting released, and if you have any questions, feel free to ask here.

And yes, I promise I'll do a real update later. Swear. No, seriously.

This is Zidane as I'll always remember him. Muzz and I popped out into the living room to find his arms wrapped around a bottle of tequila (no, that's not what's in the picture--we switched bottles after a while, and I lost the first set of pictures) and a pile of money laying by his head. And that was Zidane.

I got Zid a good five, six years ago, shortly after my ex-fiancee Julia moved in with me. He was a bastard--Fat, lazy, always getting into trouble, always beating shit up (myself included). I hated him. He was an asshole.

But after a while we came to an understanding--He calmed down, I started petting him more, and things were copasetic. He was still fat and lazy, but he seemed to chill out some. He was cool. But Zid's personality (and all pets have one) seemed to demand respect. No matter what he was doing, where he went, or who gave him pettin's, respect was understood--Both for him and for me. He respected me, and I respected him.

Zidane was a fighter, and a total hardass--Even without his front claws, he didn't have any fear. The cat kicked more ass than any small (relatively speaking) furry thing should be allowed, and that was how he liked it. He had respect.

There were nights when I was completely alone, and on the verge of completely losing what little sanity I had left at that time. It was cold out--The coldest winter Mississippi experienced for quite some time, and I had no heat. I'd lay there on the couch shivvering, and Zidane would come up just to lay on my arms and keep me warm. He respected me.

I wanna be able to take some comfort in thinking that he went out fighting, or that he was able to kick one last ass before he laid down one last time. I'd like to think that maybe the other guy is nicely fucked up too... but I really can't wish suffering on anything. Whatever it was, it probably didn't give Zid the respect he deserved. And even though it cost him, Zidane put up a fight, and he managed to keep his dignity. I'd like to take some comfort in that. At least just a little.

He was the best friend I had for many, many a year. There were points he was my only friend, after I did a damn good job of shoving everyone else away. He bit my head, he kept me warm, he respected me. We respected each other.

I love you, Zidane. Thanks for putting up with me for all those years. And hopefully, I'll see you later down the road. So long, you fat bastard son-of-a-bitch cat.

So, as some of you guys know, my dad was in a really severe car accident this week. Ten Twelve broken ribs, fractures everywhere, all sorts of general nastiness. But, he survived, and that's what's important--He's going to be in a world of *hurt* for a while, but he's alive.

Anyway, the reason I'm making this post is just to show off this picture. This is the truck he was driving (company vehicle for the state):

http://www.enterthehaven.net/truck1.jpg

My dad has just been upgraded to the toughest motherfucker I know.

3:22 am. Scene: My house.

Myself: "I can't really sleep."
Lester: "Yeah, me either."
Insert pause
Myself: "You wanna go fishing?"
Lester: "Sure."

We're a bad influence on each other.

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=5464505634137914176&q=trading+spouses

This one's for all the pagans in the house. Beware the power of the dork side.

http://www.cnn.com/2006/HEALTH/01/14/trauma.pill.ap/index.html

Arn't our memories what make us who we are? At what point do we stop trying to force evolution on us while we're not ready. One day, pills like these will be doled out like candy, given to any wide-wyed youth with a tear in their eyes.

Everything we do seems to bring us one step closer to erasing our personalities. Two steps forward, ten steps back. One day we'll all be an indistinguishable pile of grey flesh, un-moving and un-thinking... but with blank, empty smiles on our faces.

We'll be staring at the sun with no clue why we look upwards.

Here at the house of catgoddess, an experiment has begun. A terrible experiment. One blurring the line between science and insanity. Something which I fear may have angered the gods above, and called forth demons from that which lies below.

We are making brownies.

Not just any brownies, however. Nay, these are brownies beyond that of mortal men. These are brownies which demand tribute. Sacrifice. Blood, sweat, and tears. The bleeding edge of science has gone into the creation of these tender morsels of madness, pushing our creative abilities to their limit.

To understand what has come into the creation of these psychosis-inducing treats, allow me to list the basic ingredients.

Two packages of regular chocolate brownie mixture.
One package chocolate brownie mixture containing miniature Hershey kisses and chocolate chunks.
One package of Hugs Hershey kisses.
One package of cherry cordial filled Hershey kisses.
One package of caramel filled hershey kisses.
Varying amounts of oil, eggs, and water.

At the time of this posting, they have been cooking for over an hour and a half. They are not yet done.

The brownie gods are angered at us, and I fear they may seek retribution.

For more updates: here and here

Alright, I need some help. Is there anyone out there on my friends list who's had experience installing the Media Wiki software on a page and is willing to walk a complete n00b through the process of getting his server ready for it? It says I need to install PHP and MySQL and quite frankly I have no idea what I'm doing with any of 'em.

Could reaaaaaaaaaally use the help of someone a bit more experienced than myself.

Edit: Ok, turns out that PHP and MySQL are already enabled on the server, so no worries with that. Still have no clue how to install the actual Wiki thing, though. Someone asked if I had shell access, which I don't, so if that means anything to anyone... well, there ya go.

Well, I guess this is pretty much a banner day. Not only have I finally updated my LJ, I also got around to doing something in Photoshop! Go me! Shoved it up on DeviantArt (which hadn't had any lovin' in nearly a year), so if anyone cares to see: http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/27225746/

Windmill, Windmill for the land.
Turn forever hand in hand
Take it all in on your stride
It is sinking, falling down
Love forever love is free
Let's turn forever you and me
Windmill, windmill for the land
Is everybody in?

It's the tiny little reminders of life. Cold nights and nicotine. An old note. An ancient, leather-bound book. Relics from times long, long past. To all good things, there comes an end. To all ends, there were good things that came before.

Different era, different year, different month, different week, different day. A new morning, and I'm here to see the sun rise. Can't all be bad, now can it?

My birthday begins in a few hours. I will be barricading myself inside my room. Do not attempt to contact me by any means--Yes, this means you. The whole world can fuck off. This also includes you.

Standard disclaimer: I usually only pass on memes if they're interesting. I hate the random quiz bullshit, and I really can't stand this "List five things then tag someone!" crap. That said, this meme is kinda cool. Ganked from moonrose:

Go to Google, search for "[Insert Name] needs" and select the best things Google says you need and make them into a poll. Elitist meme, I know, paid journal users only still, aren't polls? HA! TAKE THAT FREE USER SLACKERS! Or something. Anyway. Make the poll, post it to your journal, hilarity ensues. Hopefully.

Poll #585367 Brad needs....
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 27

What do I really need?

www.pandora.com

Go now. This is possibly among the coolest links I've ever posted, and I'm completely serious about that.

The site takes an artist/song title from you, and sets up a small radio station that streams similar tunes... and it's surprisingly accurate. Not to mention rather comprehensive. Go forth and check it out.

(( Also, justjay: Get this song. You'll thank me later. ))

Alright. I've been on Livejournal for over five years now and, apparently, I have never once started my own meme. It's time to fix that.

Here's the rules.

Step #1: Go to www.google.com
Step #2: Put in your first and last name, surrounded by quotation marks (like: "Firstname Lastname"). Feel free to use permutations of this if you're called by different names (for instance, I searched for both Brad and Bradley).
Step #3: Pick out links featuring people who share your name (but arn't you) and post them to your journal. Bonus points if you include a brief description on what they link to, as opposed to just being a lazy fucker and dropping a bunch of links into your update field.

That being said, I got two interesting results:

http://www.nctimes.com/articles/2005/05/03//sports/amateur//5205195640.txt -- Apparently I'm a pretty damn good baseball player out in California...

http://www.nsp.state.ne.us/sor/Subject.cfm?vREGNUM=199701001 -- And a convicted sex offender in Nebraska. Go team me.

At one point, there was also a site on the web that said I was a youth minister in Tennesse, but that page no longer sems to be on the 'net. Go figure.

Anyway, spread this around, do it yourselves, so on and so forth. You guys know how a meme works.

It's official--The computer is deader than a doorknob. I'm updating from a friend's house right now, and will be checking in on email and such when I can. Otherwise, don't expect to see much of me over the next week or so.

Be back as soon as I can.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/arts/4732385.stm

And across the world you can hear the seperation of geeks, forming two sides. Swords will rattle, torches shall be lit, words shall be flung... and eventually, people will get out of breath and just go home to make an angry post on the internet about it.

Personally, to me, Pratchett is certainly the better writer and the most inventive of the two--While I enjoy the Harry Potter books, Rowling is far from a master writer and pales in comparison to those whom she obviously draws inspiration from (C.S. Lewis, Roald Dahl, ect. ect.)... but she's not terrible, and the books are neat.

But... Terry. Dude. I hate to say it, but you just sound bitter. While I can certainly understand where he's coming from, and even agree with it, there's a better way to put it. One that doesn't make you seem like a dried up prunearse who's looking for attention.

I will say this much, though:

He also expressed surprise at Rowling's comments that she only realised Harry Potter was fantasy after the first book was published. "I'm not the world's greatest expert," he wrote.[...]"But I would have thought that the wizards, witches, trolls, unicorns, hidden worlds, jumping chocolate frogs, owl mail, magic food, ghosts, broomsticks and spells would have given her a clue?"

BURN.

Ladies and gentlemen... James "Scottie" Doohan has been beamed up to the big Main Engineering in the sky. He gave it all he's got. He coulddna take tha pressure.

In other words... he's dead, Jim.

(I'm so, so sorry.)

I've thought better about it, and have gotten rid of the entry that was here. I'm not going to stoop to her level--I'm better than that, and *gasp* better than her.

Fuck the childish crap. Let people think about me what they want. At least I know I'm not the person you want them to think I am.

Sherpa.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you... Pope Palpatine I!

The Evil One (evilgoddude) wanted a new desktop. So I obliged.

http://www.deviantart.com/view/16635540/

Tada.

So I've come to a conclusion. And that conclusion is this: the_rantings. This will keep my hyperbole rantings out of my journal, and in a place where it might be more appreciated. At the same time, I might give posting access to a couple of other people, who I know are quite capable of going off themselves.

No content at the moment, but we'll see what we can do before the evening's end--I'll bring a few of my current rants from this journal to over there, put in some of my older ones, and then begin updating whenever possible.

So, yes. If you want to keep hearing my insane ramblings about the world in general, head over and join the_rantings. I promise you, it'll be interesting.

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm an aficionado of webcomics. I've got way too many that I read on a daily basis, and ten times that bookmarked for a rainy day. Used to be, once upon a time, that I used this very journal to write up reviews and commentary on certain comics, if for nothing else than to educate/inform the public of what little gems they were missing out on.

That, however, was quite some time back, and things have changed a little. First and foremost, my own particular brand of vitriolic insight is somewhat archaic at this point, mostly due to the talented man over at WebSnark, who does a better job of reading and reviewing internet comics than I could ever even hope to. And, even more so than when I first put up my reviews, the face of online comics has changed--Strips are coming and going at a rate that is nigh-impossible for me to even begin to track, and we're even starting to see the lines blur between web-based comics and traditional print comics (Scott Kurtz is a putz, but I still say he's on the right track).

All that being said, though, there's a little something that I feel as though I need to comment on.

I really can't recall if I ever went off on Cory You or not, but I think it's high time I did. Mr. You, for those who arn't aware, has been the owner and artist behind a comic called PockyBot for quite some time now, and has managed to gain my ire like no one before him honestly has. Here's how.

I stumbled across PockyBot via some random banner link--I can't remember for the life of me what site it was on, but I know that the banner in question had some interesting and rather colorful artwork, so I decided to head over and check it out. What followed confused the ever loving hell out of me.

People of this day and age enjoy randomness. They watch Invader Zim and chuckle every time Gir says something completely idiotic. They see clips of monkeys interspersed with ninjas, blocks of color swirling, the theme from the Benny Hill Show playing in the background, and some text that reads "HOLY BANANA"... and this is entertainment. And, really, I can understand it. There's nothing wrong with randomness. It can actually be amusing, in a pure, simple "what the hell did I just watch?" kind of way.

However, when you start basing your entire premise on sheer random events, then you have a problem.

PockyBot was everything that I loathed about the youth of today. An unending calvacade of things that made no sense, along with highly-stylized attempts at creating catch phrases and underground images that were so transparent you could have walked right through them. The sheer name "PockyBot" is nothing more than an attempt to interject randomness with a tie to 'underground culture' (again, using the term loosely) by playing off people's love of Pocky (which is a rant in and of itself, really).

The strips refused any form of continuity, and instead loosely connected some form of MMORPG world in which literally anything could happen. And did. Constantly. Leaving strips feeling less like something that maintained a coherent world and more like something that was simply thrown together for the sake of having nothing better to do. Even this wouldn't have bothered me, had it not been for the pervasive cloying attitude that emanated from every word Mr. You typed. His constant meandering on the "3am Dreaming" and other such idiotic nonsense gave way to a thin veil of hyperbole, one that did nothing but attempt to play upon other people's desire to 'get the joke'. Little did they know, there was no joke to get.

The worst part about this is that, in their desire to understand what the hell was going on (and between pretending to understand what it was all about, just to look good to everyone else), the comic gained a *fanbase*. Not only a fanbase, but a rather rabid one at that--Granted, we all know how fangirls and idiotic otaku can be, but still. In this case, we saw the website begin to gain a rather large amount of notoriety and fame, even garnering positive reviews in the small circle that exists to do such things.

All I could do was sit back, shake my head, and wonder what the fuck was wrong with these people.

Fast forward to today. With as much as this shameful abortion of a 'comic' disgusted me, I naturally just walked away and didn't even look through it again. But, something in my mind happened to think about it today, and I wandered over to the PockyBot website... and was not really expecting what I found.

First and foremost, if you're looking for any examples of what I listed above, they're not there. Mr. You has summarily removed them from the site. Secondly, you'll notice a comic there, but it has continuity, a standard joke setup/punchline, and... no random weirdness. So what happened?

Plain and simple, I can tell you *exactly* what happened. My dreams came true, and a large group of idiots wizened up. They got smart. They finally realized that bsolutly nothing was happening, and they stopped paying attention to the hyperbole. And I really can't tell you how much this makes me smile. Yes, yes, I realize that the blurb under the 'first' comic says that the original version of PockyBot was halted due to real life conflicts and his desire to concentrate on music. Don't buy it for a heartbeat. He realized that it wasn't working--In fact, this isn't his first attempt at reworking the comic. He tried, shortly before I gave up, to interject some form of story and continuity into the entire thing, and quickly gave up.

So what is he doing now? A gaming comic. An office humour comic. A comic that is bland and mediocre beyond any and all belief. And why is he doing this? Because it's a proven formula that works. It's the same shit that's been done a billion times before, and tends to bring in people. It's cliche. It's drab. It's overdone. And he's hoping that people will eat it up.

My hope is that the populace will not be fooled. They woke up once and escaped before it was too late. They saw that they were being fooled, and jumped ship. They caused him to falter, change step, re-think his game... and I'm hoping they'll do that again.

In the very unlikely event that Mr. You reads this, I offer the following advice: You're talented. Your artwork is good, and different. After seeing your attempts to create a "3am Rev0lUt10n" (or however the fuck you leeted it), I know you'd have a brilliant career in logo/graphic design. And, while I have yet to listen to any of your music, given your list of inspirations, I'm sure it'd be something that I would enjoy.

But when it comes to your attempts at fooling the populace? You lose. Not only do you lose, but you lose in the worst way--In the sense that everyone can see *exactly* what it is you're doing, and how you're doing it. While the general population of suckers are even more vast now than they were 100 years ago, you are nowhere near P.T. Barnum, and we are not amused.


... all that being said, maybe I *should* retake my position as a comic commentator. Mr. Burns over at WebSnark has insight into the comic world that I couldn't even begin to grasp, but (despite the 'snark' title), he tends to be rather kind to most people. I am decidedly *not*. And, really, the webcomics world could use a dose of venom that isn't somehow related to Squidi.

Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit's RANT TIME!!!

I understand and agree with the intent behind this post by LJ sweetheart cmpriest (aka Cherie Priest). Frankly, I can understand the outrage some people would feel upon reading an article such as this, and can fully appreciate the sentiments she puts forth in her statement.

But here's my problem.

Read through the post. Absorb it, enjoy it, grasp the words. Then scroll down a few inches and start reading through the commentary.

While I can sympathize with the statement "stop fucking him", I sure as HELL can't understand who in the goddamn world DIDN'T REALIZE THIS WAS AN OPTION. At what point did some idiotic person out there say to themselves "Goddamn--Even though my boyfriend is a prick, I guess I better keep makin' with the sex anyway." At what point did humanity lose so much touch with itself that this post has become a revolutionary statement?

No, no, it's far from that--It's not revolutionary at all. It's what those of us with more than three brain cells like to call "Common Sense". But because Ms. Priest used common language (and vulgarity helps, mostly because it speaks to the 'radical' idea that seems to be popular--XTREEEEEEME!!!1! sells, afterall) and showed her thoughts to an audience that admittedly conforms to the lowest common denominator in terms of fads, everyone and their mother seems to be swept in the "Stop Fucking Him" craze. Frankly, at this point, it's become a verbal meme for people who don't have the ability to think for themselves.

Now I'm not intending any disrespect to Ms. Priest here--Far from it. I happen to have quite a bit of respect for her and her literary abilities. In fact, as I said earlier, I agree with her message. No, no, I'm leveraging my disrespect to the commenters--The REST of Livejournal. Not that they ever earned it in the first place, really, but it's yet another great example of how humanity fails to impress me. Afterall, the fact that you don't have to partake in sex is a huge deal to all these people. It's a goddamn stroke of genius they never thought of themselves, and would never have come to on their own. It's a revolution of Grrrrl Powah and 'feminine solidarity'.

Oh, please.

So, to that end, I'm offering my own proposal. A proposal for a group that could, quite frankly, USE it.

Are you a guy? Are you in a relationship with someone that was shocked and amazed by this post? Perhaps your girlfriend has never quite come to this realization on her own, and still isn't aware that she has control of her own body and is entitled to the rights there-in. If this is the case, then I offer you the following:

Stop fucking her. No, seriously.

Listen to me here. I know what it's like to be packin' heat between my legs. I know just how goddamn hard it is to turn that shit off some times. But just because a chick bats her goddamn eyes at you over a shot of Jack Daniels DOESN'T mean you have to give her the deep dickin'.

Let's examine this in-depth here for a few minutes.

First off, we're guys. So there-for, the promise of sexin' is always attractive. Unfortunatly, this means even if the chick *isn't*. You know how many serious buttertrolls out there I know of that get laid on a regular basis? Hell, more regularly than any guy I've ever met? This is because of one simple fact--They have a pair of tits, and guys will stumble all over themselves just to get a peek. Even if they're attached to the ugliest hambeast this side of the Mississippi river. YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS. Stop settling for 'just anything'. Stop fucking her. Stop thinking that just because it has a pussy, you have to hit that shit. YOU DON'T.

Secondly, what the hell are you doing to yourself when you pull this shit? You're not only running the risk of getting yourself some great disease, you're also running the risk of bringing another little pain goblin into the wide world. This is something that affects the *both* of us, asshole--I can guaran-damn-tee you that I don't wanna be paying your baby's momma's motherfucking welfare check. Just because you had to get your rocks off doesn't entitle you the right to jacking up my motherfucking taxes. Stop fucking her.

Third: If your woman is dumb enough not to know that she has rights of her own, and can control her own sexual destiny? Stop fucking her. Don't you ever motherfucking DARE get her pregnant. Because there's no goddamn way that stupidity like that should be allowed to breed. I don't want you to bring another little motherfucking bottom-feeding munchkin into this world just to leech off the good graces and talents of the rest of us.

You've got porn and your right (or if you prefer, left) hand. Believe me, it's easier, quicker, and a hell of a lot more satisfying. You don't have to deal with the bullshit, you don't have to deal with the risks, and you'll come as close as you *ever* will to getting two chicks at the same time.

If your woman is an idiot? Stop fucking her.

If you're tapping a hosecreature just to get your rocks off? Stop fucking her.

If you can't do it without the fear of getting some kind of crawling death/assclone out of the deal? Stop fucking her.

It's not as hard as you think.

Jesusfuckingchrist. Stupid, stupid, STUPID GODDAMN PEOPLE!!!

www.redhawkradio.net <-- Same as every Monday night, ladies and gents. We're live and on air from 8pm CST to 12 midnight CST. Tune in, request shit, and chill out.

See you on the stream.

Alright. The surprising announcement. Probably the last thing you guys expected from me, *but*... from here on out, we're going friends-only. I know, this is a total reversal from my 'open book' policy, and I really don't want to do it, but I'm tired of something and it's going to stop here. In a nice, friendly, open letter!

Everybody, say hi to my mom.

Hi, mom.

Now, I've known for a while that you read this. I dealt with it, despite not liking it, because I didn't want to close off my journal. The problem here is that you tend to view it as a bit of superior knowledge against me, and attempt to use it to pry into my life. I'm sick of that.

If you want to know something about my life, feel free to ask *me*. But please stop asking D, or trying to go behind my back. I know it makes you feel superior and all, but it's really quite annoying, and I'm rather tired of fighting it.

I'd like to remind you of a couple of points. I'm 22. I own and live in my own house. I have my own job. Yes, I do ask you for help from time to time on various things, but I respect your privacy and I've asked that you respect mine. Since I have yet to get that, I'm closing off yet another avenue into my life from you--Another small window that you won't get to look into anymore.

Had you taken a respectful route, and attempted to talk to me like a human being, then we wouldn't have to do this. But, as it is, I'm tired of the spying, I'm tired of the going behind my back, and I'm tired of you pestering my friends. So, it's over. Feel free to attempt that 'respect' thing I mentioned earlier, but knowing you I realize that it won't happen--You've never really had it in dealing with me, and I don't plan on it starting now. Frankly, I'm just dissapointed.

If you'd like to respond to this, feel free--Just click the little playing card down there and start typing. Don't even have to have an account. Or you could come out and actually talk to me about it, but seeing as you haven't done that since you actually started reading my journal over a year ago... well, let's just say I don't hold out hope for either option.

And that's about all I have to say on that subject. I'll start friend-ing old entries in the morning, and make a pretty little 'friends only' graphic to shove at the top of my journal. Again, I'm sorry to have to do this, and I won't be dealing in specialized user groups or anything... but you will have to be on my friend's list to read anything here.

Thank you, and goodnight.

Edit: Oh yeah. And since you're so interested in this journal, I figure I'll leave a few of my 'greatest hits' (which are all dealing with you) open and public. Yes, this includes the infamous 'Oprah Rant'.

Edited on July 8th, 2004: And, while we're on the subject, here's an old post from 2003 where we were going to fuck with you, mom. This one was previously friends-only, but I figured I'd let you in on it now.

Ok, so here's how this goes.

First off, yes, I know that I'm breaking convention by putting in a friends-only post. But, I assure you that there is a very good reason for this, so just bear with me here.

Now, to the meat of the matter. See, my mother (while I love her to death) is a wee bit psychotic. She seems to have some very serious control issues in reguards to my life in general, and likes to keep tabs on me in the most oddball of ways.

One such way is pestering my room mates and friends to death about what I'm doing. Another is popping by and in my house while I'm not there. But the one we're here to discuss is her daily checking of my journal.

Now, she doesn't realize that I'm well aware that she does this--In fact, she has no clue that I know she stops by here on a regular basis. So, in an attempt to teach her a bit of a lesson, I've decided to have some fun.

Starting tomorrow, you're all going to see some rather odd posts from me over the next month or two. I'm talking really, really odd--Alcoholisim, drug abuse, wild orgies, you name it. I'll be making a few friends-only posts during that time to keep you all up to date on what's going on and how the battle fares, as well as a way for you guys to identify which posts (or parts of the posts) are utter bullshit. Should be easy enough, if you know me, but just in case.

So, with that in mind... let the games begin. >:)

And on one final note reguarding the matter, I'd just like to say how much I love my mom. Psychotic as she may be, she always seems to know exactly what to say and when to say it... and her birthday wish for me this year was probably the best present I've ever gotten.

When I was younger, I used to have a box. Inside, I kept notebooks, of all different shapes and sizes. They were my most prized possession, and I almost always carried one with me wherever I went. I did everything I could to keep any harm from coming to them, and I'd never let people look at them--Occasionally I'd show a page or two, something I wanted them to look at in particular, but never just sit there and randomly flip.

They held all sorts of things, from drawings, to stupid little fan fiction stories, to more important bits of creative writing. Poetry, essays, scribbles... you name it. I could flip through them and know exactly where each thing had been set down, and what it was for. What it meant to me. Amazingly enough, none of them ever seemed to get full, though, no matter what I put into them.

I once gave someone a notebook, completely empty save for the first page. They asked me why, later on, and I told them this: A notebook can be the most precious of things. Inside, there can be wonders untold and unheard of before, or absolutely nothing at all. The pages reflect a sense of self that cannot be comprehended, or contained anywhere else. From the words themselves to the grace (or lack thereof) of the handwriting. The light lines of a sketch, or the furious scribbles of an angered letter. The most important thing within, though, are the pages that haven't been touched.

Each blank page holds a billion promises. It can be turned into nearly anything you desire, from a love letter, to a drawing of someone you randomly saw on the street. It can be folded into a paper airplane, torn out and crumpled into the trash, or shared with your friends, each adding to the experience.

The blank page has no set definition, no boundaries. It is clean and pure until the first stroke of a pen or pencil. It is free to be whatever you want it to be, however you wish to make it so. Treat it like you would a brand new day, and make it completely your own--The vision is yours to shape.

I find myself scared of blank pages these days. I look at the infinite possibilities and ponder the varying outcomes, wondering what could go wrong with each one. I don't write anymore, save in here, and probably with good reason. I don't want to sit back and look at a book filled with nothing but meaningless drivel and wonder what on earth possessed me to do something like that in the first place.

The trick is to remember, however, that the joy of a new notebook means the joy of a thousand chances. The ability to rip away the bad and begin on something new. It isn't a matter of messing up something you're working on, but instead discovering your mistakes and correcting them the next time around.

White clouds with sea-blue skylines.

Grand. Just grand. My mom thinks I'm on Ecstasy. Let's go beyond the fact that the closest I've ever come to being high in any way shape or form is breathing too deeply around a bunch of stoners. Let's go beyond the fact that I've never even smoked a cigarette. Let's go beyond the fact that even if I *was* a stoner-type I never leave the house to *do* something like E ('cause, hate to break it to ya, but Mississippi ain't exactly the center of all ravedom). Let's go beyond all those facts and examine that I (A) Have back problems, (B) Have troubles sleeping, and (C) Have trouble with memory loss. Now the greatest person in the entire world (a woman who I just love and cherish and respect above everyone else in the universe) decided to do a show yesterday about the drug and it's effects. This woman, ladies and gentlemen, is Oprah. Now, if you couldn't detect the dripping sarcasm from my voice a moment ago, lemme spell it out--I FUCKING HATE THAT BITCH. SHE MAY ROT IN HELL FOR ALL I CARE. For years there were countless times where I had almost convinced my mom that, despite all the negative media buzz around it, being online wasn't such a bad thing and that I should sign up for an internet account... Then what happened? Oprah. Oprah fucking Winfrey ran a show on kids abducted from the net, or how people were causing fraud online, or fucking stalkers. *poof* There went my dreams of net access, every fucking time. Oprah had my mom convinced once that I was addicted to food. Oprah once had my mom convinced that I was a satanist. Oprah, Oprah, O-P-R-FUCKING-A-H!!! Now what has she done? By listing back problems, memory loss, and sleep loss as the side effects of MDMA, guess what??? You got it, boys and girls--I drop E!! Jeebus H Cripes, will this woman ever get kl00? Will Oprah ever be shot like the dogbitch she is? WILL I EVER GET PEACE AWAY FROM THE HORRORS OF DAYTIME TALK?!?! Tune in next time, on As Brad's Head Explodes!

(edited to say that yes, that is an actual song lyric quote... or at least as best as I can figure out Dying Fetus' words)